


I Was Gonna Eat That!

by wanheda_two_heda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Best Friends, Clarke wears Bellamy's shirt, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, bellamy likes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10412352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanheda_two_heda/pseuds/wanheda_two_heda
Summary: Based on the Tumblr prompt: Hey! I was gonna eat that!Clarke wakes up hung over thinking there's a burglar in her house. Turns out it's just Bellamy wanting to make her hang over food and ends up trying to make sure that Clarke doesn't give herself food poisoning. Fluffy banter and flirting ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Bellarke Semi-Finalist for Best Comedic Drabble**
> 
> I love easy, teasing Bellarke.

Clarke wakes up to the sounds coming from her kitchen. She looks at the time on her phone, and it’s half past noon. She’d had a fun night at the bar with Raven and Harper the night before, so she’s glad that she’d let herself sleep in. It doesn’t explain who’s in her kitchen, though, because even though she’s hung over, she does know that she lives alone. 

She slips out bed, not caring that she’s wearing one of Bellamy’s old t-shirts, a shirt that her best friend had lent her after she’d gotten beer poured on her at one of his parties, and a short pair of sleep shorts. She tiptoes to her door, grabbing the baseball bat she kept hidden by her dresser that Wells had given her when she’d told him that she was moving to New York.

She’s quiet as she tiptoes to her kitchen, baseball bat raised above her right shoulder, hands gripping it so tight that her knuckles are turning white. When she turns the corner, she sees that someone is rifling through her fridge, and that her cupboard under her sink, the one where she keeps her trashcan, is open. She’s about to say something to the intruder when a familiar head of dark curls appears as the intruder turns to throw something in the trash. 

Bellamy turns back to the fridge and notices her as he does.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Clarke!” he shouts, his hands going up to protect himself. “What the fuck?”

She laughs at his stance. “Calm down, ninja man. I thought you were a burglar.”

“And what? You were gonna beat me to death with a baseball bat?” he asks, and he takes her in, his eyes tracing her body from her extremely exposed legs to the oversized black band t-shirt. His pupils flare darker for a quick second. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

She pulls some of the fabric up to her face and nuzzles into it. “It’s comfortable.” Bellamy swallows. “What are you doing in my fridge?”

“Raven texted, said you went a little hard with the tequila shots. I thought I’d come over and make you hangover food, but everything you’ve got in here is disgusting.” He reaches in and pulls out a takeout container filled with left over sesame chicken from their last movie night. “Case in point,” he says, before tossing the container into the garbage can.

“Hey! I was gonna eat that!” she protests.

“Clarke. It’s from when we watched Troy.”

“Yeah? So?”

“That was _last week.”_

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“So what exactly am I supposed to have for breakfast?” she asks just as her stomach growls.

Bellamy reaches up to grab the bottle of Advil off the top of her fridge that he keeps there for situations such as this and hands her two. He takes a cup out of the cupboard behind him and fills it with water from the Brita, and hands it to her along with two Advil.

“Take these, and then we can go to that greasy diner down the block that you like so much.”

She smiles and happily swallows this pills. “Just let me go get changed,” she says, and she starts to walk back to her room before he wraps his calloused fingers around her wrist and pulls her back.

She looks up at him, and his pupils are darker than before. “Leave the shirt on,” he says, and his voice is husky. 

His fingers play absentmindedly with the hem of his old shirt.

“You like it on me?” she asks innocently, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

He gives her a wide grin as his hand finds her hip and he pulls her flush against him. “You could say that,” he says.

She walks her fingers slowly up his chest. “So this breakfast thing, is it like a date?” she asks.

“It could be,” he says, his thumb slipping under her shirt and skimming at the soft skin at her hip. “If you want it to be.”

She slowly lifts her arms to lock her wrists around his neck. “I would like that,” she says, and raises herself on the tips of her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Let me at least put real pants on.”

He smacks her ass playfully as she heads to her room. “I don’t know. I kinda liked those,” he calls after her.


End file.
